Context
by abracadera
Summary: Shedding some light on the fade-to-black during the SWTOR bounty hunter companion quest "The Next Step." Contains spoilers, adult themes, strong sexual content and language lessons. Rated M. Torian Cadera/F!Bounty Hunter
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This started out as a personal challenge - to shed some light on the fade-to-black during "The Next Step" using only existing in-game dialog. **_**Challenge accepted. **_**Luckily(?), both my F!BH and Torian had more to say, and this story took on a life of its own. If you've played through the SWTOR/BH/Torian romance storyline you can probably recognize the re-used dialog. And if you can identify every last bit of it, call yourself a natural.**

_**Context - Chapter One  
**_

The promise of R&R apparently wasn't enough to get her crew all off of the ship at once, though whether this was due to loyalty, cluelessness or general pain-in-the-assed-ness, she could never be sure. There was always something happening, someone (or several someones) who needed killing, and in the end she'd had to make it crystal clear that they had damn well better take their free time while it was still free. Life was short, life was cheap, live free or die - she had given them a pep talk to end all pep talks. It did the trick, that and letting them out on the fleet with a shitload of creds. Gault had practically disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Mako lingered, giving her an inquisitive look.

"I know it's not the beach. Sorry, it's the best we can do right now."

"Don't worry about it. Anywhere is better than Belsavis."

"Except Hutta. And _Quesh_." Her nostrils flared, remembering the death-stench of poisoned atmosphere. "What a shithole."

"Well, _duh_. I was being nice." Mako squinted at her suspiciously. "What about you? And Torian?"

"Got a date. Mando business."

"Uh huh. I bet."

She gave Mako her best whatever-do-you-mean look, then slipped the slicer an extra pile of creds.

"You're in charge of this field trip. Make sure Blizz has a buddy." She winked, then added: "No curfew."

Mako looked tempted to say something, a smile curling her lips, but she only winked back. "Right-o."

Once Mako left the bridge, The Grand Champion of the Great Hunt stared out at the stars for a long while, chewing on her lower lip, waiting. For what, she wasn't exactly sure. Her hunter instincts told her it wasn't time to pounce just yet, but soon. _Soon_.

He'd told her on Belsavis that he wanted to talk when they got back to the ship, his inflection not giving her any indication as to what, perchance, was on his mind. He'd said nothing else since, which wasn't unusual; Torian was very economical with words. He could say more with two words than Mako or Gault could say with two dozen. Or two hundred. They both babbled like Jawas on stims, which was yet another reason to keep Blizz away from the adrenals.

To be fair, 'Trap', 'Ouch' and 'Toast' could be considered full sentences coming from Torian. It had taken some getting used to. Now she found it endearing for some reason.

It wasn't the first time he'd insisted on waiting until they were back on the ship to talk. While they were on a hunt or in the field he was all business, and so was she. They were both pros, a few drunken cantina moments (on her part) non-withstanding. The ship was different, it was home, and where they most often did their awkward little courtship dance: two steps forward, one step back. He was alternately direct and evasive, layers of meaning buried beneath seemingly casual conversations, the tone of his voice and the way he looked at her speaking louder than words. She knew how to play that game, and gave as good as she got, but any return interest she showed inevitably made him back off just enough so she had to chase him, and left her wanting more. She wasn't sure who was hunting whom.

She'd almost given up on him. It had been a long time since Taris, an even longer time since Dromund Kaas. By the time they landed on Hoth she had been one stiff drink away from throwing herself at him just to see if he'd either catch her or let her fall. In the (very) cold light of day she was glad she hadn't forced the issue, but it had been a (very) near thing. His eyes had been so blue on Hoth. She blamed the combination of Corellian rum and incipient hypothermia.

He was so serious. She should've gleaned that, having watched him shoot his own father in the face, and for the most part she had. That he was so serious about her was something else that had taken some getting used to.

She'd never been in a serious relationship. Her life was serious enough. Or maybe she had never been in a relationship, full stop. Any commitment when she lived her life so close to the edge had always seemed like a bad idea, not that there had been much chance of getting too close to anyone in her line of work. Her few encounters had been casual bordering on anonymous and about as intimate as eating a sandwich - she had the best job in the world but after a long day of kicking ass and taking names she needed to vent some heat, not to put too fine a point on it. It was obvious Torian wanted more than that, so obvious that she knew better than to try to make him settle for less. At least when she was sober.

She had realized on Hoth that he had never touched her, not really. He'd been telling her about Corridan Ordo in the worst excuse for a cantina she'd ever been in (and that was saying something) when she'd noticed that he was keeping his hands behind his back, a soldier's at ease position, but he hadn't looked at ease. He'd looked as though he was being extra careful about where he put his hands. That might have been when she'd started drinking in earnest.

He _had_ touched her, of course. They'd always been physical, ever since she'd disarmed him on Taris, when she'd first seen the desire in his eyes, blazing up at her like the blue of a flame. But there had always been armor between them, and on Hoth it had seemed like the biggest tragedy of her life.

But then _Hoth_ had happened, and then the bloodbath on Nar Shaddaa. He'd watched her back through all of it, and she was grateful that he'd been the one there with her. He understood the need to settle the score. She came to realize that he understood her, that they understood each other.

They'd fought well together from the first. She was glad to have someone with her who could deal out as much damage as she could, who could peel foes off her if she got swarmed. He didn't complain like Gault did about spoiled shots when she knocked enemies back away from her, and she no longer had to feel like Mako was holding her life in her hands when they fought Jedi. He jumped right into the fray time and time again without questioning, custom-built for close-fighting, his body honed for war. Watching him end someone with a wrist blade to the face never failed to make her blood jump in her veins. She loved the way he moved, not exactly a swagger, but with a confidence that was completely male: pure testosterone. Just the way he shifted his weight beside her was enough to light up her body like a saber.

But it was his loyalty, his honor, his seriousness, his reserve, his confidence in battle and his shy, awkward sweetness when they were alone, his overall _Torian-ness_ that made her feel need, instead of just want. She'd never felt this before, the urge to be with him always, the deep, sickening wrench in her gut akin to homesickness when they were apart. It was all new, and the feeling kept growing, blossoming, blooming, until she was almost sure what the feeling was.

The very last time they'd had one of their shipboard conversations he'd confessed that he was in love with her; it had been direct and sweet and very serious, much like Torian himself. Or maybe it had been less of a confession and more like the verbal equivalent of throwing her a live grenade, something that been ticking away inside him for a long time, under his heart, ready to go off at any moment.

She told him she knew. She told him she loved him back. By then she was sure.

And then he kissed her.

It was a very Torian-esque kiss, a serious business kiss, like sealing a pact or a promise. It _was_ a promise, she realized when he took her hands so formally and told her he was hers. She had felt the power of that kiss all the way down to her toes. Just one kiss, and she was his as surely as he was hers. She could feel it in her bones.

It should have been simple after that. It wasn't. Between Darth Tormen and dealing with that damned Houk convict who kept popping up like a bad rash on Belsavis, they hadn't had even a second to themselves. Now she was making time, _downtime_, to hell with Zale Barrows. That asshole could get in line with everyone else.

Since Torian had kissed her, they'd been on the hunt. On Belsavis, he'd given her what felt like an affectionate head butt after a tough battle, wordlessly grabbing her by the helmet to crash it against his own. He'd never done that before, and even though she couldn't see his face she'd known exactly how he was smiling at her; when he grinned he often looked half crazy, as if the solemn lines of his face weren't quite sure what to do with joy. And later, after a nasty fight where she'd ended up flat on her face in the dirt, he'd picked her up off the ground by her hips without a word, put her back on her feet and proceeded to briskly brush her off for much longer than was necessary. He'd never done that before either. He'd been very thorough with the brushing. Maybe he'd been inspecting her gear for damage. Maybe the dirt on Belsavis was particularly _dirty. _Or maybe once he'd started touching her he hadn't been able to stop. There'd still been armor between them but for once she'd been glad for it; it meant he couldn't see her blush. There had been no time, not then, not on the surface of a prison planet with convicts running wild. But it had given her hope, which had given her more patience to wait.

Just enough.

She glanced at her helmet, the T-shaped eye slits staring back at her from where she'd left it on the console, the anticipation sizzling through her blood warring with her instinctual hunter's patience. Maybe it was all wishful thinking. Maybe he was just going to tell her he had to leave to go pick Corridan Ordo up at the spaceport. Maybe she should stop thinking about maybes. The time for waiting was over. She left her helmet where it was and made her way down to the cargo hold.

He was standing where he always was, looking as he always did: still but alert, ready. She had been with him all day, had been with him all day, every day since he'd gotten back from Alderaan, and she still felt the flutter in her belly at seeing him again. It was crazy. She had replayed that kiss and the little smile he had given her just afterwards inside her head for what felt like every minute of every day since, and here they were again, between the cargo bins and the crafting station with the carbonized mystery bounty hanging on the wall. The place where he'd told her about forever.

She went to go stand in front of him, mimicking his posture, arms crossed, and looked up at him. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"You wanted to talk?" Another casual question that wasn't in the least bit casual; she made sure of it by using her most suggestive voice, the one with a nap to it, like velvet. She watched his eyes light up at the sound of it, bright as stars.

"Didn't I promise to teach you Mando'a? Seems to me I've been neglecting you." If there were medals being given out for suggestive voices, he would've taken home the gold.

She took the smallest step towards him, inexorably drawn, arms dropping to her sides, head tilting, eyelashes dipping in appraisal. "You have been neglecting me pretty badly."

"I'll make it up to you." That sounded promising. The look in his eyes promised more. She wanted more.

Before he could say anything else, she ran her hand down his chest plate as though it wasn't there at all, letting her gaze linger on his mouth before raising her eyes back to his. She watched the blue of his eyes focus on her like a laser.

This kiss was different; it bloomed. This time she pushed him up against the cargo bin, and he let her. This time when she threw herself at him, he caught her, one hand grabbing the back of her armored thigh, the other threading through her hair at the nape of her neck. His lower lip was as soft as she remembered it, his mouth so hot against hers she felt as if she were melting. She grabbed him by the shoulders for balance, her armor squealing against his as she wrapped her arms around him, standing up on her tiptoe to deepen the kiss. He tasted so good, salty and male. She wanted to eat him alive.

When her tongue touched his he made a quiet noise in his throat and backed off the slightest amount, looking down at her.

"_Beskar'ad."_

No matter how she turned that word around her mind like a puzzle piece that had to fit somewhere (Was it an endearment for her armor?), she was at a loss and looked up at him with both eyebrows raised, her expression saying it all for her: _Really? You were serious about the language lessons?_

He motioned to a spot behind her with his head. "Droid."

Oh, right. The droid was still there. To her it was little more than talking furniture.

She leaned in as if to kiss him again, stopping short instead to whisper against his mouth. "My quarters."

Like the good soldier he was, he didn't need to be told twice. He scooped her up in one efficient motion, one leg looped around his waist, the other sort of curled around the back of his thigh, and then trucked them both, armor and all, past the droid and up the stairs. Miraculously, the droid didn't offer her a foot massage on their way by.

Once he crossed the threshold into her cabin he immediately spun around to glance behind them. He looked nervous. It was a subtle thing with Torian, all in his eyes and the set of his mouth; when he was nervous he somehow looked very young and a little sad, like a tired child needing another goodnight kiss. It stood out as an expression because _nothing_ seemed to make him nervous, except maybe her. She found that endearing too.

She peeked back over her shoulder for his benefit, following his gaze. He still hadn't put her down.

"No sign of pursuit." She repeated the words he'd said to her often enough, imitating his inflection, instinctively trying to put him at ease. When his expression didn't change she reached over to stab at the door controls, putting one of her feet down for balance.

Once the door snicked shut he continued to stare at it as if he were trying to weld it shut with his laser eyes, then looked back at her. He had such an intense stare sometimes, like he was trying to see through her skull.

"Don't want interruptions."

She smiled at him. "That makes two of us. I took care of it. And nothing is getting through this." She knocked her fist back against the door to emphasize, then leaned her weight back against it, bringing him closer to her with her leg still mostly around his hip. "There are reasons blast doors were invented."

His focus came back to her as if it hadn't been anywhere else, letting himself be pulled into the shelter of her legs, his hands rising to her face. "Good reasons."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Context – Chapter Two**_

He kissed her up against the door, tilting her head back, the durasteel covering his hands cold against her face. This kiss wasn't hesitant, or shy; the power of it took her breath away. When her lips fell open against his he tilted her head back further, pinning her to the door with his body, his tongue sliding into her mouth. It was the first time he'd taken control, the first time she'd let him, and it felt as though this was how he'd always wanted to kiss her, like he was claiming her as his own. The heat of his mouth, the chill of metal against her face, the hard press of his body against hers – the combination of sensations was intoxicating. Her brain felt as though it were lying in a stunned heap in the bottom of her skull. And her blood was _singing_.

He pulled her away from the door, not giving up her mouth, and began to carefully and calmly remove her jetpack, his hands working by feel, as if all Mandalorians were skilled in divesting their partners from ordnance. She must have missed that meeting. Or maybe he'd thought this through more than once. She had but not in any tactical way - somehow his armor had mysteriously melted away in her daydreams.

There was so much she wanted to _do_. Soon she was flailing like she didn't know where to start, similar to the way she'd flailed her way through a few battles in her early bounty hunter career when blood loss made her sloppy and she couldn't decide whether she should fire another missile, jab some kolto into her leg or run around in a demented little circle like a malfunctioning droid.

He tried to back up a step as he got her jetpack off, ducking slightly as she closed the distance between them immediately. "Careful."

She grabbed him by his belt buckle and pulled him towards her. She wasn't having _careful_, wasn't going to give up his mouth or the contact of his body for even a second. She kissed him harder, deeper, crushing her armor against his, grabbing two fistfuls of his blond hair for leverage. He made a surprised noise that she felt more than heard, his arms coming around her as carefully as possible, as if she were volatile, in every sense of the word. She pulled his hair, yanking it in two different directions, making a sound of frustration at not having the presence of mind to take her gauntlets off first. That flamethrower was just an accident waiting to happen.

"_Haar'chak_." He whispered that right against her mouth when she finally let him up for air, sounding out of breath and distracted.

Before she could grab onto him again, he tipped her head back and to the side and lowered his mouth to the juncture between her neck and jaw, just below her ear. The scratchy tickle of his stubble and sideburns, the heat of his mouth, and the softness of his lower lip – the combined sensations paralyzed her, striking down like lightning in a path from his mouth to the very core of her. She made a noise she'd never heard come out of her mouth before, something that sounded like _want_.

"Ohhhhhhhh."

"Gotcha."

Her knees buckled, and he caught her. He took the opportunity to quickly divest her of the ammo belt looped around her upper arm without stopping what he was doing to her with his mouth. She couldn't even think while he was doing that, the maddening brush of his facial hair against her sensitive skin blotting out everything else. He took care of his jetpack and got her gauntlets off next, being extra careful with the flamethrower, then took care of his own, dropping them to the floor.

Once he had taken care of all immediate threats, he reached out to hold her face is his bare hands, the feel of them rough and scarred and warm against her skin. She looked at him dazedly, only able to form one word: "How-?"

"You tilt your head when you flirt with me. Always." He demonstrated, moving her head further to the side, and kissed her again, warm and open-mouthed, on the magic spot. His lips moved against her skin. "Might as well have crosshairs." The sound of his voice, reverberating from his chest so close to hers, made heat and desire trail down her legs.

"Oh." This was softer, more like a sigh. She closed her eyes, a furrow of thought appearing between her brows as she smiled. "What _else_ have you noticed?"

He raised his head, his tone completely serious. "You lead with your left when you need to take a bounty alive. Like you're giving them a fighting chance." The timbre of his voice changed only slightly, deepening, as he continued. "You cock your hips when you want something." He put his hands on her hips, showing her how they were angled against his own, before lowering his head back to the magical spot on her neck, making her moan again. Her head fell back, limp. She felt him exhale against her neck in a smile as he started working on her chest plate. "That makes you expose your throat."

"Keep doing that and I'll expose more than my throat."

"Can't wait." He was almost nuzzling at her now, obviously enjoying her reaction. He got her torso piece off and chucked it on the floor, running his hands down her exposed back, his mouth still moving against her. His voice grew teasing, right in her ear. "Not like you to give into a weakness."

"Weakness?" Even to her lust-clouded brain, that sounded like a challenge.

It took a measure of her determination but she broke the stunning power of his mouth, then grabbed both of his roaming hands and placed them on her still-armored backside. The heat of his instant blush against her neck made her smile triumphantly.

"Gotcha." She dipped her head to kiss him with her smile, giving his lower lip a tiny nip. "'I'll cover the rear." She imitated his inflection, then added, "MY _ASS_."

"Don't want to get flanked." Blushing Torian was a sight to behold, too adorable for words. "Eyes in the back of your head?"

"Factory installed." She took one of his hands and ran his fingers down the curve of her ass to the back of her leg, mimicking the lines traced down the back of her techplates from waist to ankles. "Knew these were a good investment."

"You didn't."

"You wanted to see something worthy. It was either these or my strapless blast vest."

"Good choice."

His hands continued running over her backside once she'd put them there, giving him permission. It was an effective distraction while she worked on his torso armor, letting the gear drop beside her own on the floor. He had another layer on underneath the armor padding, something bluish-grey and skin-tight. She brushed her hands over his chest, absorbing the topography of his muscles beneath the silky fabric.

All at once he seemed to realize he was fondling her ass and his hands jumped up and away from it, as if it were too hot to touch. He held his hands out and open in front of him.

"Don't shoot."

"I'll only shoot you if you stop."

He looked down at her blasters on her hips. "Better make those safe, unless you mean that."

She backed up a step and cross drew her blasters on him in a flash, a practiced, fluid movement. He just stared at her, eyes intent, pressing his lips together as though he were fighting off a smile, his hands still raised. She realized his reaction was caused more by her current state of undress than her drawing down on him (or maybe the combination of the two), so she gave both of her weapons a dramatic flip, letting him get a good look. His expression didn't change but the intensity of his stare made her think he might be taking a private mental holo for later. She made a small show of stowing her blasters safely on the desk before turning back to him.

"Better?" She did a little twirl to show how unarmed she was.

"_Lek_." He grabbed her by the hips and kissed her, then lifted her up as if she weighed nothing at all, the feel of his strong hands holding her up off the floor making her blood flare beneath her skin. He kissed her again, a deep, brain-melting kiss, then threw her bodily onto the bed.

She knew how to fall and when he followed her down she popped up on her knees on the mattress and punched him square in the chest, not as hard as she could have but harder than she meant to. It was like punching a cliff. He took it without complaint, giving her that same look, though this time it looked like the smile was winning. She shook out her hand from the impact, wincing theatrically at him. He took the opportunity to knock her over, taking out her legs so that she sprawled over on her back, his mouth coming down on hers.

They wrestled on the bed, each shucking the other out of their remaining gear, both of them amassing a pile of greaves and weapon belts and boots on the floor. She was speeding up again from the careful pace he had set, each piece of armor between her and his naked skin another challenge. They generated so much heat together where ever they touched; her lips were burning against his.

Her fingers slid against the fabric of his bodysuit that seemed to be under every part of his armor, looking for an opening and not finding one. The span of his shoulders above her was distracting, as were the clearly defined outlines of his muscles against her, the feel of his weight on top of her. She felt like a horny teenager battling a tricky bra clasp. Finally, she just grasped the silky fabric covering his chest between her hands and pulled in frustration, feeling him smile against her mouth as she did.

"_Kute_."

When her eyebrow quirked up at him he pulled at her wrists to indicate the offending piece of material she had in her fists.

"_Kute_." He repeated it.

"Koo-tay?"

He smiled more at her pronunciation, then gently took her hands off his last layer between her and his bare skin. "Later."

She put her hands right back where they had been and yanked again, clearly responding with _now_.

He moved them away again, patiently. "Nope."

She stared at him. She was almost down to her skin, her bra doing its best to contain her literally heaving bosom and her shorts half off her ass from squirming around.

"What? Why?"

"No challenge."

She had no idea what her face looked like in that moment, feeling a combination of bewilderment, frustration and disappointment, the only semi-coherent thought in her head being: _Challenge? What am I, a plate of tiingular_?

Whatever he saw in her expression, it made him smile again before kissing her and clarifying:

"After."

That wasn't very clear.

"Care to elaborate on that?"

"After you."

"Ladies first?"

"_You_."

She couldn't really argue with that.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She wriggled her fingers in his grasp. When he let go of her hands she threaded them into his hair. She kissed him once and nodded, as if giving him an all clear. He smiled at her.

Then his hands were all over her. He cupped her breasts, callused thumbs rubbing her nipples through the fabric of her bra, his mouth at her neck, open and hot. Her hips rose off the mattress, his hands setting fires along her skin wherever he touched.

"_Oh_." That was a full sentence. He seemed to know exactly what she meant, his head tilted as though he were listening to her as he kissed around the edges of her bra, the swell of her breasts, her midriff. His strip of beard was going to be the death of her, giving each kiss a specific, maddening texture. It was making her toes curl. When he kissed her nipples through the material of her bra she shivered hard and tightened her grip on his hair.

He raised his head to kiss her mouth before trying to carefully wrestle the bra off over her head. She helped him, raising her arms and squirming out of it, the motion making her hair fall down around her shoulders. The sight of her bared breasts seemed to stun him for a brief moment before he refocused on the now urgent task of getting her completely naked, quickly dipping his head to kiss along her hips as he pulled her shorts down her legs.

Once she was fully bare he settled himself between her thighs, kneeling above her, his hands hot against her hips. He looked down at her, gaze traveling down her body, his lips parting slowly, his jaw line visibly slackening. She had time to wonder if he was regretting his decision to keep his _kute_ on when his gaze returned to her face, his mouth still hanging open.

"Wow."

She felt herself blush. She smiled up at him and ran her hands through her hair languorously, stretching her body out beneath him in a taut line, giving him something to look at. She felt him stop breathing as he watched her, mesmerized, his hands following the movement of her hips. She put one arm behind her head and posed for him, running her other hand up his thigh, feeling the strong muscle jump beneath her touch. She smiled more and asked in her most velvety voice, "Are you _sure_ you don't want to get naked with me?"

He closed his mouth with an audible click and made a low noise in his throat that sounded like renewed determination.

"After."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you for the follows, favorites and reviews. Hope this was worth the wait.**

**Note from management: Mando'a translations provided at the end of the chapter, when they aren't provided by Torian.**

**Content Warning: Still M, because smut. **

_**Context – Chapter Three**_

He ran his hands slowly from her throat down over her breasts, midriff, belly and then between her thighs, his gaze following the path of his hands. He looked momentarily dazed, as if he wasn't quite sure this was actually happening. She arched up against his touch, proving her reality, letting her head fall back, enjoying the rough texture of his hands against her, the heat of his gaze on her, the soft, choked sound he made when she did it. His mouth followed the path his hands had taken, kissing her throat and down along her body the way he had kissed her mouth: slow and deliberate, direct and sweet. Thorough. His careful pace reminded her of their courtship, reminded her of _him_, the way he hunted, the way he did anything, _everything_, like he was investigating her with his mouth, hunting her pleasure like a bounty.

He lingered at her breasts, the sensation of his lips drawing on her making her shudder against him, pleasure running down her body like warm honey, dripping slow and warm and sweet. He lingered longer, eagerly, when she made encouraging noises, using his tongue, the careful pressure of his teeth. She felt dizzy, drunk, as if she were falling backwards, as if his mouth were the only thing tethering her to reality. She grabbed at the material covering his torso again, fingers slipping over the fabric, trying to anchor herself or get him naked, she wasn't sure which. He caught her hands and held them, pressing the backs of her wrists into the mattress, gentle but implacable, his mouth still busy, hot against her.

She lost herself in him then, her hips rising and falling against him, wanting more, and she felt him lose himself in her, his mouth growing reckless, his hands tightening around hers, spurred on by her reaction. A long while later it was too much, the sweetness suddenly turning sharp. He stopped when she whimpered, looking up at her face, and wordlessly returned with the softest kisses across her breasts, feather-light, so gentle, soothing her. No one had ever touched her with this much care, devotion, watching her to see what she wanted, what she needed. Responsive. Considerate. So, so sweet.

He let go of her hands and brushed the sides of her breasts and down her ribs as his mouth moved lower, kissing the planes of her midriff and stomach, making her squirm when the ticklish feeling blossomed into heat and ache. When he placed one hot, open-mouthed kiss low on her belly, right below her navel, she felt herself actually quiver. Something unknotted inside her, letting go with a tug and a tiny flare of pain. A wave of emotion crashed over her, flooding her eyes as she realized all at once how much she trusted him, how much she needed him, how long she'd been waiting for him, and only him. Her breath left her lungs in a long, shuddering exhale.

His hand rose up to her face, fingertips brushing the wetness beneath her eye. "Okay?"

She looked down at him where he was nestled in between her thighs and nodded against his hand, speechless with wanting him. When he hesitated she kissed the pad of his thumb near her mouth and nodded again, wordless reassurance. He smiled up at her in answer. It was a beautiful smile.

He kissed the insides of her thighs before nudging them further apart with his head, his hands cradling her hips. She was so ready for him. The touch of his lips on her lips made her moan.

He kissed her carefully, rubbing his lips lightly against her, his sideburns doing crazy-making things to the insides of her thighs. His tongue was gentle, parting her, tasting her, investigating her. She arched her neck into the sensation, breathing out in a gasp, feeling him watching her, listening to her, losing herself in the roughly-slick texture of his tongue, the heat of his breath. The pure, raw intimacy of what he was doing to her made her body begin to bloom for him.

He was gentler than she thought he would be, gentler than she thought he _could_ be, so gentle it began to drive her a little crazy; he was so careful, so _thorough_, his lips and tongue moving so slowly and intricately against her body that she thought he had to be saying something, until she wasn't able to think at all.

Her hands were in his hair again, the only place on him she could grab ahold of, her lungs emptying on each breath, back arching. Her reaction seemed to be getting to him, his hands tightening on her hips to bring her closer to his mouth. When she responded to that with mostly vowels he reached up to brush his thumb gently, experimentally, across the spot on her lower belly he had found in his earlier investigation, his mouth patient and ceaseless. Her hips immediately swayed towards him, her head snapping back as if a sniper had picked her off, her body bending like a bowcaster.

She felt him exhale against her, a surprised and satisfied sound, a _discovery _sound, then he touched her belly again, this time a caress. And again, tongue insistent. Again. Once more, and she felt the tidal rush, the crest rising before her, hips tilting further to catch it, there, _yes_, legs spreading as the wave of pleasure crashed down through her, her toes pointing, then curling with the force of it. She let out a high pitched cry that didn't sound like herself at all, a cry that sounded helpless and happy about it, her hands convulsively fisting in his hair before falling to the mattress, open and empty.

He raised his head from her body and whispered something; she felt the words leave his mouth as warm breath against her before he ran his lips along her inner thigh, his hand on her belly mimicking the motion. Her body arched up of its own volition to meet his touch, cat-like, drawing out the contact, not wanting it to end. She felt him say something else against her skin, a single word, his weight shifting abruptly on the bed, and then his hands were around her ankles.

She kicked out instinctively, kicking nothing but air, and her hips bucked once, helplessly, from an aftershock as sharp as the blast from a scattergun. His grip tightened, then he was dragging her down the length of the bed on her back until her hips were flush with the foot of the bed. She made a noise that turned up at the end like a question, trying to regain enough control of herself to raise her head, and watched as he kneeled down on the floor at the foot of the bed, his blond head settling between her splayed thighs. He locked eyes with her along the naked plane of her body, blue eyes burning bright, before he bent his head to her. Then his mouth was back. She gasped, her whole body shuddering. He pulled her thighs onto his shoulders, lifting her hips with his hands.

She recognized this, the focus, the confidence, the determination, though she'd never thought it would be directed at her; this was how Torian went in for the kill.

His mouth was less gentle, more urgent, sure of himself, so sure of _her_, insistent, _persistent_. He gripped her hips tight when she tried to squirm away, her nerves still firing randomly, raw and jumping. His tongue immediately gentled against her but he didn't let her go, holding her to him like he'd held her hands against the bed. If she told him to stop he would, without question. She didn't want him to stop.

She surrendered to him.

He seemed to feel it when she gave herself over to him, his hands shaking slightly as they tightened around her hips. Then she felt him focus, the pressure of his tongue slowly, slowly increasing, his hands leaving her hips to journey upwards, cupping her breasts, scarred fingers brushing her nipples, then plucking them, then teasing them both relentlessly as he licked and kissed and suckled her below; she couldn't breathe, she was writhing, she was almost _crying, _her cries echoing back at her from the walls, pleasure sharp enough to cut, then his tongue was _in_ her, one quick, probing lick, and she was bucking into his face, her head tossing from side to side, all dials in the red. Overload.

This time she screamed.

The sound reverberated for so long in her skull she wasn't sure if she was still screaming or if her scream was echoing in the abyss where her brain used to be. She felt hot kisses on her belly, strong arms coming around her, and tried to focus on him, unsure if her eyes were open or closed. Then he was there, right there, looking up at her with something that felt like concern. His mouth moved. "Mor?"

She didn't know what that was supposed to mean. She shivered looking into his eyes, abruptly cold, remembering a planet made of ice and being so cold and so drunk, remembering wanting to climb right up into his eyes where it was warm, so warm.

Then she was further up on the bed, cradled, safe, feeling the weight of a warm hand on her belly and a warmer body pressed up against her side; she was acutely aware of every muscle standing out on him against her naked skin. Her bones felt as though they had become one with the mattress beneath her. She tried to open her eyes, only managing to see a slit of brightness through her lashes as they dipped and rose with the effort.

"_Su'cuy gar_." His hand moved on her belly carefully, warm and protective.

"Still alive." Her voice sounded raspy. She gave up trying to open her eyes and exhaled in the deepest sigh, sinking deeper into the bed.

"Didn't hurt you." There wasn't enough inflection for that to be a question, it was more like he needed confirmation.

"No." She shook her head slowly back and forth on the bed to emphasize how much no. A galaxy of no.

"Good." That sounded relieved.

Her answering smile seemed to take a very long time to spread over her face, as if it were on a journey; she responded almost as slowly.

"So. Much better. Than good."

"Ma'am."

_That_ made her smile grow until it felt enormously wide on her face, a bright feeling rising in her chest. When her smile got as wide as it could possibly get she exhaled the bright feeling in a rush of nearly silent laughter, her hand covering his on her stomach as she shook with the force of it, breathless.

"What?" He sounded so befuddled, it made her laugh more.

"I _love_ you."

"And?" As if that went without saying.

"You're adorable."

He hesitated at that, maybe about to tell her that baby animals were adorable; she could imagine his expression matching the one on his face when she'd called him _kid_. Then his hand traveled up to her face, cupping her cheek.

"You're _glowing_."

"After that? I bet."

His fingers traced her face carefully: the curve of cheekbones, her smiling mouth, gentle over closed eyelids and the fan of lashes, following carefully down along the scar that bisected her right eye socket. His hand came to rest against her jaw, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

"_Mesh'la_."

She managed to get one of her eyes open for that, peering at him through her lashes. He was looking right at her; if she was glowing then he was basking in her glow, his expression so open in its pure happiness that it hurt her heart a little.

"Torian. I don't know what that means."

He had so much light in his eyes when he was happy. He smiled and glanced at her mouth before kissing her on the nose.

"Beautiful."

She shifted in his arms, bringing his head down to her so she could purposefully kiss his mouth, tasting herself on his lips, musky and bitter and sweet. She tilted her head and began to lick his lips carefully, tracing the curve of them with her tongue. He shivered, so she lingered, being almost as thorough as he had been. When she was done she smiled against his lips and whispered: "I always thought you had an amazing mouth."

He exhaled very slowly, his eyes bright and watchful, as if he wasn't quite sure what she was going to do next. She kissed him again, lazily, her eyes half-lidded, pressing her breasts against him, her hand trailing downwards from his chest, seeking. He intercepted her before she found what she was looking for and took her hand in his own.

"_Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni_."

"Torian..."

He smiled at her and kissed the palm of her wayward hand. "Can wait, if you need another nap."

She blinked at him. "You can?"

He smiled more. "_Pakod_." Just one word, and she knew he meant exactly the opposite, but he'd wait forever if that's what it took. It was all there in his voice, his smile, the tilt of his head.

"You have more discipline than two of me."

"Don't believe that. You didn't jump me on Hoth."

She was too spent to wince. "You noticed." She was beginning to realize Torian noticed everything.

"Not blind."

That didn't sound good. "What did I do?" Despite her blinding headache the next morning (which she'd conveniently taken out on the wampas) she was almost positive she hadn't drunkenly propositioned him.

"Don't remember?" He sounded both skeptical and amused. She realized belatedly he was teasing her.

She pretended to think. "I remember what I _wanted_ to do to you."

He smiled. "Everything but that."

She tried to swat at him, coming up just short when his hand tightened around hers in reflex. She settled for butting him in the chest with her head, too relaxed on a molecular level to express herself any way else, a move that surprised a laugh out of him. He had a great laugh, so she did it again just to hear it, then rubbed her face against his chest. She drew out his name as she did, making sure he felt the brush of her lips. "Torrrriaaaaan."

"Yes?" Polite, like he was answering the door.

"Did I _drool_ on you?"

"Maybe."

She looked up at him. He was wearing his serious face again, though he kept pressing his lips together and his eyes were twinkling. She shifted so she was facing him, throwing her bare leg over his hip, and kissed his chin. "Can you blame me?"

He didn't answer that, shaking his head, looking at her as if he couldn't believe she was real.

"How pathetic was I, exactly?"

"Not pathetic. " He shook his head more emphatically. "Never. _Haryc b'aalyc_. Drunk. Mando'a for tired and emotional."

"Oh." Tired and emotional summed up her mental state on Hoth perfectly. She was finding Mando'a was a lot like Torian: succinct.

"Wouldn't take advantage of that. Of you."

"I know." She searched his face. She could feel how much he wanted her, it was radiating off him in waves of heat, his eyes bright with it, the press of him hard and insistent against her nakedness. But still he held back. "I'm not drunk now."

"_Haryc?_"

"_Relaxed_. " She peered at him. "Wait. Did I fall asleep?"

He hesitated. "Blacked out?" At her wide-eyed look, he shook his head again. "Passed out? Just for a minute. Seemed longer. Thought I killed you."

Her face felt hot at his words, her body remembering in vivid detail what he had just been doing to her. She stretched against him, curling her leg around him tighter, and whispered right in his ear. "You should know by now it'll take more than that."

He smiled. "That's my girl."

She kissed the knuckles of his hand still holding hers, running her tongue over the crisscross of scars. "You're two for two. That means you win something. Right?"

"Who's keeping score?"

"Me." She kissed him firmly. "I'm not dead yet. And patience deserves a reward."

He smiled more then, his eyes twinkling like stars. "_Definitely_."

"This." She pulled at his _kute_ for emphasis. "Off. Now."

* * *

Mando'a translations from mandoa dot org

_**Su'cuy gar **_

Hello. Literally: "You're still alive."

_**Pakod**_

Easy, simple

_**Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni **_

You're no use to me dead. Said to encourage someone to take a rest. Rarely literal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Thank you, again, for the reviews, follows and favorites. I really appreciate it. Feedback FTW. It strengthens my will to continue. Also, hel-**_**lo**_** lurkers! If you're shy, that's ok - I am too. Hope you're enjoying the view.**

**Note from management: Mando'a translations provided at the end of the chapter.**

**Content warning: Still M, because smut.**

_**Context – Chapter 4**_

The yellow light suffusing her quarters illuminated the edges of his hair, spiking the crown of his head with radiance like a halo. He hesitated for a moment, looking at her, before he ducked his head to kiss her fingers.

"_Jiila"_

He moved away from her to sit on the side of the bed, his back to her. She curled up, cat-like, in the warm spot he had left, watching him curiously, wondering if this was how he got undressed at night in his lonely bunk downstairs. She meant to see how he got his _kute_ off, if it was, in fact, some strangely complicated Mandalorian chastity device conspiring to keep his skin from her, but when he pulled the material covering his torso off over his head all she could do was stare.

She'd never seen him fully undressed before. It seemed incredible, considering the number of times she had patched him up after battle, her meager medic skills and kolto injections keeping them both alive. The sight of his bare back, wide, defined shoulders, muscles rippling under tanned skin, golden and glowing in the light of her cabin, made her jaw unhinge. Then he stood briefly to get out of the pants, skimming the tight material down over his narrow hips, and she felt her brain short-circuit at the sight of him standing, backlit in gold: the shadows of twin dimples at the base of his spine, the tight curves of his ass, the strong, compact muscles of his thighs.

When he sat back down, bending over at the waist to wrestle the material off around his feet, she had to physically restrain herself from a strong but completely irrational desire: to fling herself onto his back as if she were going to ride him around the cabin like a wild tauntaun. The pull of need was so strong; she felt it like a fire-hot hand in her belly, grasping her, tugging her towards him: the need to feel him between her thighs.

"Checking my form?"

He looked back over his shoulder at her, smiling his little Torian smile. When she didn't answer, her mouth hanging open too far to make words, he made a very deliberate, graceful motion, the muscles of his back bunching and then releasing smoothly under his skin, flexing. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing, then she recognized it: exsanguination, a stance she had seen him perform countless times in battle, only now he was doing it sitting on the side of her bed, naked as the day he was born. He finished by raising an imaginary techstaff over his head, holding the stance, obviously posing for her, still smiling faintly.

She stared harder, the steady pull towards him becoming a sudden yank like a grapple line wrapped around her body, and then she did fling herself at him, crushing her breasts up against his back, one arm going up under his arm across his chest, the other trailing downward to his belly, feeling peach fuzz and impossibly defined abdominal muscles. The pure heat of him was incredible against her naked skin, his scent like musk and durasteel and incendiary devices. He smelled delicious.

She thought he meant to say something else, his head turned towards her, but when her body made contact with his whatever he was going to say was lost in a long exhale and the quietest moan. She kneeled behind him, her breasts caressing his back, and held him to her tightly, placing tiny kisses around his jaw line, his neck, behind his ear.

She felt his whole body shiver against her, gooseflesh prickling up against her lips, her breasts, and then his hands covered hers on his body, holding her in return. He turned his head as far as he could towards her, seeking more of her mouth. She teased him, placing the lightest kisses around the edges of his lips, the corner of his mouth, his ear, making him groan softly, his hands tightening over hers, until she relented all at once, parting his lips with her tongue.

His heart thundered against her, beating fast and hard. She felt her body go liquid and hot, molten, melting into him, her hands beginning to move under his, exploring the planes of his chest, the ripples of his abdomen , so silky and hot and hard. He opened his mouth against hers, his hands rising; she thought he would grab her, but instead he combed his fingers through her hair where it hung around their faces, the motion making his muscles flex enticingly under her touch, leaving his body open to her.

Another kiss, or the same kiss, deep and unending, her hands mapping his chest, his stomach, rising up his arms, and suddenly it wasn't enough. She shifted around him without breaking the kiss, her skin sliding against his, her body straddling one of his thighs for a long, hot moment, and then she was kneeling on the floor in front of him, running her hands down from his shoulders to his thighs.

His body was _ridiculous_.

She felt greedy, drinking in the sight of him, devouring him with her hands: the shadows of tight muscles, lean and defined, so strong; the crisscross of scars on his knuckles rising to his forearms, battered from hand to hand fighting; another scar curling around his ribcage on the left side, a raised line as long as the span of her hand; a trail of hair so blond and fine it was almost invisible, darkening near his hips.

His hands were busy, running through her hair, down her back, but dazedly, as if he couldn't control what they were doing. The direct skin-to-skin contact seemed almost too much for him, his muscles twitching against her wherever she touched, rippling under his skin. She was momentarily torn, worried she was torturing him - sweet torture, but maybe torture all the same - and desperately wanting to feel the texture of his body with her tongue.

She dipped her head to kiss his chest experimentally, running her lips across his left pectoral; he let out the longest breath, his hands fisting in her hair for a split second, pulling hard. Again, she thought he would grab her, pushed past the point of control, but his hands loosened, running down through her hair again, her back, cupping her ass.

"_Gar serim_."

That was all it took. Then her mouth was all over him, licking and kissing, running her tongue into the groove over his hip bone, nibbling on his pectorals, his abs, dipping her tongue into the cup of his navel. He tasted like salt and sweat and smoke, accelerant, flame. Torian.

He was nearly panting, discipline unraveling, thread by frayed thread. His hands moved from her hips, to the small of her back, to her ass, then up and down through her hair again, breathing deep. When she flickered her tongue at his nipple, brushing the opposite one with her thumb, he did clutch her for an instant, gasping, moving her head firmly away from him. She stopped immediately, looking up at him, unsure if the expression on his face was excruciating pain or pleasure, or maybe both. He let go of her, and she only had a bare second to feel incredibly bereft before his hands began moving gently through her hair again, his looping, astonished pattern repeating itself. She leaned into his touch and moved her mouth to the middle of his chest, heading south.

She ran her hands down the muscles in his legs, finding a deep scar on his thigh, hidden in his blonde hair, and traced its length delicately with her tongue, winding inward. She could feel him twitching against her in anticipation. Then she grabbed _him_. She bit her lip as her hand fastened around him, absorbing the length and the girth, the _heft_ of him, silky and so hot and hard against her palm. He was suddenly and completely still, as if he had been frozen in carbonite. She smiled a secret, satisfied smile before leaning down and licking him from root to tip with one long, slow swipe of her tongue.

He exhaled in a burst of hot breath and seized her by her jaw with both hands. She tensed in anticipation but instead he stood, somehow, pulling her up with him. He pushed her backwards, two big steps away from the bed, until they were standing chest to chest, him holding her face in his hands, his thumbs on either side of her mouth, staring at her.

He was starting to look concussed, like a boma had just kicked him in the head: his eyes had lost their laser focus, so dark with desire, pupils dilated with want and need. So much need. It was intoxicating. His blond hair was dark with sweat and sticking up in little spikes and swirls. He was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

"Need you." His voice was deep and ragged, raw. She felt those two words reverberate in the very center of her, radiating light and heat in all directions like a star.

In answer, she pressed her whole naked body against his, standing up on her toes to hook one leg around his hip, arms around his shoulders, lips against his lips, the invitation clear: _Have me_. If she tilted her hips and stood further up on tip-toe he could be inside her in one movement, where she wanted him, then up against the wall or the desk or the bed or the floor.

His expression changed only slightly; it was all in his eyes and she watched it happen, like clouds scudding across the sky to hide the sun, an expression that stopped her as surely as if he had backed away from her. She thought for an instant that she might have pushed him over the edge too soon, that even the vaunted Mandalorian discipline could only take so much, but the look in his eyes was familiar; she'd seen it on Taris, right before he'd asked to come along with her, again right before he'd asked her if she was seeing anyone, and again right before he'd told her he loved her. In fact, she'd seen it earlier that night: the sudden spike of nerves and then the resolute brace for impact.

"Torian." She came back down on both her heels carefully, keeping her body against him. His naked skin was slick with sweat, muscles jumping under her hands. His mouth opened against hers as if he wanted to say something but nothing came out except a shaky exhale.

She brushed her lips against his very gently, reassuring contact, and took his face in her hands, brushing the matching scars on his cheeks with both thumbs. When he didn't say anything she whispered kindly, but firmly, right up against his lips: "Spit it out, sweetheart."

"Never..." Context was everything when talking to Torian. She tilted her head back to look at him more fully, not letting go of him, the question in her eyes and he shook his head against her hands, repeating it. "Never."

As true confessions went, this one felt less like a grenade and more like a thermal detonator.

Emotion burned in her chest, rose in her throat, flooded her eyes: amazement, sadness, the triumphant, greedy feeling of _mine_, curiosity, understanding, more amazement. It made sense now, all of it, all of _him_.

He was watching her, taking in her reaction. She smiled at him then, tilting her head, letting her voice turn velvety, sultry and inviting: "Fast learner."

He brought her mouth to his to kiss her hard, lips crashing into hers, his tongue in her mouth. With more than a little effort he pulled himself back from her. "Don't know the half of it. Thought about this. You. A lot."

His words made her quiver, feeling something like a deep blush in her belly. "I thought about you, too." She brushed her fingers over his mouth, so soft against her. "Not enough?" She looked at him. "I should've, I mean…" She stopped.

"Surprised." That wasn't exactly a question either.

She nodded for a long time. _Surprised_ didn't cover it. The words came out in an incredulous, breathless rush: "Have you _seen _you?"

He shook his head at her, his mouth hovering against hers. "Doesn't matter."

"And you pay attention. Some men go their whole lives without learning how to do that."

"_Di'kute_." Dismissive. He held her face like she was something precious, the timbre of his voice deepening. "Been paying attention to you before you even knew my name, Champion."

His use of her title made her remember him back on Dromund Kaas: blond and bright and shining like a beacon, how he'd already known who she was, how he'd been waiting for her, _anticipating_ her. How she hadn't even wondered how he'd known.

"_I _should have paid more attention." Her head moved side to side in a sort of continuous negation, the motion wetting her lower lashes. "I wish you told me before, I wouldn't've-"

His hands tightened around her face, stopping her. "No. Loved it. All of it." Emphatic. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply. "And you do pay attention. You noticed."

"Better late than never?" She leaned into him, breathing out as deeply as he had. "Were you just going to…_let_ me?"

"No. Don't know. _Mirshe shuk'yc_." He shook his head again. "Brain went off-line hours ago. Wanted to tell you before. Couldn't get the words out."

She smiled at that, wide and sudden and surprised at herself, unable to help it, then looked down; he'd only said two words about it, and really only the one, twice.

He tilted her face up with his hands, whatever he saw in her expression making him clarify.

"Before you, no one. Untouched. Means a lot. This. You."

Her heart was suddenly so full, her chest felt heavy and light at the same time, as if it might burst.

"You honor me, Torian." She kissed him once, like he had kissed her when he had told her about forever: like a promise.

"I'm yours." So direct, simple and so sweet. She felt a twinge in her heart: not guilt, not regret, but something in between.

"I wish I met you a long time ago."

He smiled at her. "Wasn't ready for you yet."

She touched him carefully, barely proving his reality, suddenly afraid he would disappear right in front of her.

"How- how do you want this? Me? _Us_?" She brushed the twin scars on his cheeks again, so carefully. "What do you want? Tell me." She kissed him. "_Anything_."

As naked and vulnerable as she'd ever seen him, but the sudden, bright shine of lust in his eyes was undeniable.

"Cover me."

She took his hands in her own and led him back to her bed.

* * *

Mando'a translations from mandoa dot org:

_**Jiila **__[__GEE-lah]_

Right away, right now

**Gar serim **[_Gar sair-EEM]_

"That's it."

**Di'kute **_[DEE-koo-tay]_

Idiots, useless individuals. Literally: someone who forgets to put their pants on

_**Mirshe shuk'yc **__[MEER-shay_ _shook-EESH]_

{Brain} + {not working, no use, useless, broken down, out of order - usually said of machinery}


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. Thank you again to everyone who has followed, reviewed, favorited or PMed me. You rule. This one's for you.**

**Content warning: Still M, because hel-**_**lo smut**_**.**

_**Context – Chapter 5**_

He followed her without a word, fingers threading through hers in a clasp that felt like another promise made and kept and honored all at once, slowly and deliberately keeping his body against her, as if he couldn't bear to lose the press of her skin against his. If she had ever wondered how much he wanted her, now she had such physical, palpable proof, right against her, heavy and throbbing and needy, hot and silky, enormous, her body nearly buzzing with the hard contact of him against her belly.

It seemed a long way to the bed, the floor littered with discarded armor, jetpacks leaning drunkenly against each other near the door, layers of defense and offense shed between them. She nudged one of his boots out of the way with the back of her heel, her gaze not leaving him, heat suffusing her body like a fever when the back of her knees touched the bed.

She wasn't sure what her emotions were doing, her limbs heavy with desire, her heart full of light; just looking at him was making her want to cry, unshed tears heavy in the back of her throat. It was as if he had shed something else along with his armor, some barrier that had kept them apart and now left him wide open. His pure vulnerability was making her heart pound, her legs tremble; she wanted to protect him, she wanted to give him everything his heart could ever desire, she wanted _him_, every inch of him, every drop of him.

She kissed him very gently, the barest brush of lips, a whisper of a kiss, one filled with promise, reassurance, then ran her hands down his back, holding him to her. When he sighed, a deep, shuddering sound, she kissed him again before laying him down on her bed, as careful and deliberate as he had been.

The sight of him gazing up at her from her bed, naked and ready and waiting, made her heart do a flip in her chest, the pull of her body towards his as irresistible as gravity. He exhaled so slowly as she settled over him, thighs sliding around his hips, feeling the insistent, hot press of him against her. He didn't look nervous anymore; he was looking up at her with so much hope in his eyes, as if he were seeing a wish he hadn't dared speak aloud come true, his hands nearly burning with heat against her thighs.

She felt a burst of self-consciousness looking down at him, feeling almost shy, exposed, all of her shields down. In her younger years she'd thought nothing about rolling around half naked on a sabacc table with a drunken spacer, her body wanting the release, her heart untouched and always her own. That girl was light years behind her now.

This was different. No one had ever looked at her the way he was looking up at her: as if she had set the planets in their orbits. Men had always looked at her like they were hungry, like she must taste delicious, or as if she would be a fun way to spend a few hours, or minutes. Torian saw _her, _and only her. His gaze was making her feel more than naked, but also powerful, and adored; she felt as though she were holding his heart in her hands.

She covered his hands on her thighs with her own, biting her lip and then smiling a small, private smile at him. She could feel him watching the movement of her mouth, his gaze heavy against her lips, before he raised his eyes back to hers, his hands beginning to move the way they had before, as if he couldn't control what they were doing, fingers sliding compulsively against her thighs beneath her hands. He smiled the most intimate smile up at her in return, one for her eyes only, and she felt something in her heart crack and spill out, hot in her chest.

She bent forward to kiss the scars on his cheeks, brushing her lips under both of his eyes, absorbing the texture of rough skin against her mouth. His hands rose up her back, trailing fire against her skin, holding her down against him, then threading his fingers through her hair to bring her mouth to his own. This kiss felt different, aching and bottomless with need, his muscles twitching against her in anticipation, the sharp, raw awareness of the bare inches separating him from her.

When he broke the kiss with a groan she brushed her lips against his temple, her body trembling in answer, then leaned back to shift her hips over him, letting him feel her heat, letting him see her, all of her. She reached between their bodies, knuckles skimming the silky trail of blond hair on his abdomen, his eyes widening when her hand fastened around him again, and then she guided him slowly and carefully inside her, feeling the stretch of him filling her, her body cradling him, enfolding him, arching her back to take him in deeper, swollen and slick and hot and _oh_.

His mouth opened slightly once they were completely joined, his eyes nearly black, dilated with desire, sensation, pleasure, pupils eclipsing the blue of his eyes like twin planets. She saw something primal in his gaze, the thin blue rings of his irises burning around the black, instinct taking over, and when she angled her hips carefully, her body thrumming, stretching, adjusting to him, embracing him, he gripped her thighs hard, whispering a single word like a prayer.

"_Gedet'ye."_

She didn't know the word, had never heard him say it before, but she could hear the plea in his voice, see it in his eyes: _Please_.

She smiled down at him, feeling another pang in her heart, hot and sharp, and let her body answer him.

She rocked her hips slowly, finding a gentle rhythm, tidal, natural, her hands tracing his chest, wet with sweat, the rapid beat of his heart strong under her palms. The hard pressure of him inside her, filling her, searing hot, made her want to stretch and arch and moan, hips bucking, head tossing, but she held herself back, concentrating on him, wanting to be as careful with him as he had been with her, as considerate. The way he was looking up at her was making her blush; she could feel the burn of it right under her eyes, spreading down her chest. His eyes kept getting wider.

His hands began to roam again - tight against her hips, grazing the small of her back in the lightest touch that made her shiver above him, around him, hot and lingering and possessive over her breasts - but his gaze never left her face; astonishment, wonder, lust, love, all reflected in his eyes. There was nothing except the two of them, the friction of his callused fingers against her skin, the texture of his hard muscled chest beneath her hands, the slick fullness of him inside her, the pure intimacy of the way they were looking at each other. She was suddenly brimming with hormones and instinct and emotion, beginning to arch her back languidly, her head falling back, her pace quickening instinctively, unable to control it any longer. When he made a low sound of approval, a deep rumble she felt everywhere, his body beginning to follow her lead, hands gripping her hips, everything began to slowly spill over the brim.

She watched him, his gaze holding hers like a tractor beam, worried the pleasure she saw in his eyes would soon turn to pain if he didn't let go. Was he waiting for her, again? _Lucky, lucky girl_. Or was his body's response to stimulus - pleasure or pain - so disciplined that he couldn't let go? She knew, better than anyone, really, that he often fought until he was literally on the ground. Or had he pushed himself past the point of release by denying himself all night? He was suddenly so quiet, staring at her, as if he were holding his breath, his body matching the movements of her own rhythmically, compulsively.

She let her head fall back farther, exposing her throat, her hair tumbling down to brush the small of her back, the motion and the feel of his fingers tracing her collarbone making her stop thinking. She let her instincts take over, her hips undulating as she rose and fell, feeling the pull of want and need, and heat, so much heat, so full of him she could feel the tight burn just beneath the pleasure, the thickness and the length of him bumping up inside her, slick, wet heat clamped so tight around him. The blue of his eyes blazed up at her like a corona.

Suddenly she wasn't sure if she was going to cry or scream or throw her head back and wail; she had to tell him to breathe, had to tell him she loved him, had to tell him she was close so close, all that came out was his name.

_"Torian..."_

All at once he sat up, one strong arm coming around her hips, his opposite hand grabbing the back of her head, clutching her to him. He said something wordless against the most sensitive part of her neck, chest against chest, belly against belly, and then she felt his teeth scrape against her skin as he thrust up hard inside her. Her body pulsed around him immediately, pleasure like a thunderclap, hips shuddering, mouth opening in a silent scream. She felt his arms tightening around her, the arm around her hips crushing her down on him and lifting her up again and then she was in full vocalization, punctuating each thrust with a ragged cry, each cry with an answering buck of her hips, her belly meeting his and meeting his and meeting and meeting until the thrusts all ran together and she was screaming his name.

Her cries were making him frantic; she could feel his heart hammering against her, his hands clutching her everywhere, his breath coming hard and fast against her mouth, her neck, her breasts, his body moving as if every nerve ending was on line, singing. Then he lost it, control snapping, hips jerking, his body surging against her. He grabbed her and bit the corner of her jaw, the sound he made against her skin primal, somewhere between a snarl and a whine, like something ripped out of him by the roots. She couldn't hold him tight enough, the hard press of his teeth making her whole body quake against him, skin shivering all over as he spilled into her, gasping, his arms tightening so hard around her she heard her bones creak. When she moaned his mouth met hers, the press of his lips against hers both rough and soft, catching her cries, exhaling words she didn't understand into her mouth.

He collapsed backwards onto the bed, taking her with him, not letting her go. She panted against his chest, drenched with sweat, hers and his, her skin tingling, her heart matching his beat for beat. Her mind was a pure void, limitless and white in all directions, like the surface of a frozen planet, her body and his glowing together like twin suns.

Some unknowable amount of time later she felt him speak, her head on his chest.

"Medic."

For an instant she had no idea where she was, heavy, spent limbs automatically fumbling for her med scanner, her kolto, the reflex to heal him so heavily ingrained. When she realized she didn't have her healing gear because, hello, _naked on top of Torian_, she tried to raise her head, managing only to brush her face sleepily against his chest. "You okay?" She whispered it against his skin, still unsure if either of them were actually conscious.

"_Kandosii'la_."

He sounded half asleep. When she levered herself up to look at him she saw that his eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling with a stunned expression, like a shock-collared ronto.

"Torian." She brushed her lips against his chest gently, growing concerned when his expression didn't change. "I hope that means yes." She shifted on top of him to see him better, feeling him wince beneath her.

"Don't." That sounded sad, with an undercurrent of please, but at least he had switched to Basic. "Wait." His arms encircled her hips to hold them flush with his, their bodies still joined but only just barely, as if she didn't want to let him go and he didn't want to leave.

She held her hips very still against him, sighing quietly at the feel of his arms around her, and moved only her head to kiss his chin as gently as she could. He shivered against her; she felt it all the way down along her body, the ripple of his muscles, the rasp of his breath. She waited.

After several long moments his hands began to move again, tracing unknowable patterns against her skin.

"Means my dreams didn't do you justice, _cyare_." So much affection and tenderness in one word, like a kiss on the forehead. She recognized the word as one he'd spoken against her mouth, her skin, her heart.

She smiled at him, brushing another kiss against his chin. "You were worth the wait. Every second of it."

"Call me a natural."

"You're a natural." Her response was automatic; it came out of her mouth whenever he said that, and he had said it many, many times. His answering smile made her kiss him again. "I mean that. You're amazing."

"_Kandosii'la_."

"Kan-DOH-see-la."

He smiled more at her pronunciation. "Amazing."

She nipped slightly at his chin, enjoying the feel of his spent body against hers, hot and slick all over with sweat. She had never seen him relaxed before. Bleeding, unconscious and half-dead, yes; relaxed, no. "And you have more discipline than three of me. Maybe three and half."

"Four."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: …**_**and**_** we're back. Sorry for the wait. Thank you again to everyone who has given me feedback and encouragement to continue this. It means a lot to me. *awkward group hug***

**Note from management: POV switch. Please brace for impact. Mando'a translations provided at the end of the chapter, when they aren't provided by Torian.**

_**Context – Chapter 6**_

Her teeth sank into his chin a little deeper. It felt like a warning nip. He smiled, a dull ache spreading throughout his cheeks and jaw in its wake. He couldn't remember ever smiling so much in his life. The thought made him smile wider.

_"Four?" _She breathed out the word, low and smoky and mock incredulous. She had such an incredible voice, deep and sultry; he had always _felt_ her voice, as if it were a physical touch that ignored the barriers of armor and distance: a caress like velvet against his ear, his lips, mischievous fingers brushing his chest, undoing his belt.

His smile grew to what felt like positively goofy proportions. "Five?"

She stretched closer, breasts sliding against his chest, full and soft and wet with sweat, leaning over to bite his lower lip with her smile. The silky friction of warm, slick skin and the sharp, piercing contact of her teeth sent hot sparks trailing across his skin, reigniting like embers wherever she touched him, making his body shiver hard against her again.

_"Five?"_ That sounded challenging, hot and teasing; the word burned against his lips.

His hands moved without conscious thought, finding the small of her back, tracing further downwards over the luscious curve of her ass and pressing her down against him. He held her there, right where he wanted her, right where he had_ always_ wanted her. He felt it in his gut, his groin, his heart, such a palpable, physical craving just for her, as if every part of him was hungry for her, thirsty for her, parched and starving without her.

She sighed against his mouth, a warm exhale of breath, then she bit him again, this time a little harder, her smile a little wider. He smiled back, realizing dazedly that if his smile was as wide as hers was they were grinning at each other like a pair of drunken Trandoshans.

She was so beautiful; her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright, her skin luminous, as if it were lit from within. _Dral_. He wanted her again, right then, and maybe a dozen times more before breakfast, the desire warring with the deep relaxation of his body, so spent he wasn't sure if he could lift his head off the mattress. His brain felt fuzzy, his eyelids heavy, as if he'd had too much to drink, his joints loose in their sockets. There was such a glow in his heart, warmth and brightness spreading in his chest, down through his limbs, as if he'd swallowed a star.

Her kisses softened, trailing lightly over the scars on his cheeks, his nose, the line of his jaw; slow, tiny, teasing kisses that reminded him of raindrops.

_Rain kissed the crown of his head, his face, trickling down through tree cover to find him, seductively insistent. His hair was damp, the surface of his armor beaded with precipitation; he hadn't moved for a good hour, laid out on his belly in a perfect spot, rifle ready, as patient as the rain. The Republic soldiers on Taris had proven themselves to be _di'kute_– he'd picked off a few of their scouts for target practice in the days since he'd been MIA, then more than a few when they went beating the bushes for him. The disorganization in their pursuit was astounding. Now they seemed to be regrouping, or preoccupied, judging by the lack of prey, 'Pub, rakghoul or familial, stirring below his perch._

_The light, seductive touch of the rain against his bare skin, his lips, had stirred his body's need, watering the seeds of a daydream that had been planted on Dromund Kaas: kissing her mouth, her full, sweet mouth, the first kiss that claimed her, made her his, imagining the texture of her lips, the heat of her breath, the taste of her… _

Gev.

_Then he was resolutely __**not**__ thinking about her: his vantage point was perfect; the rain, a distraction. He refocused his attention on going over the traitor's trail yet again: the subtle signs of beast traps laid in a widening perimeter around an abandoned transport center, the newly brimming dew collectors hidden in the canopy of trees below him, the path that led to Jicoln, and redemption._

_He raised his rifle's scope to his eye, sighting sudden movement below him. Before he could do more than focus, the movement became a distant figure cross-drawing two blasters, whip-quick, a graceful blur of durasteel-covered motion, aiming at something out of his view on the ground below. The target, whatever it was, died quickly, a hail of blaster fire and a carefully-aimed explosive dart leaving nothing but scraps of flesh and blood born aloft and smoking to mark its passing._

_He stared through the scope, focus sharpening, his heart suddenly in his mouth. He couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. He took in the distinctive tilt of her helmeted head as she holstered her blasters, measured the exact circumference of her hips; it was __**her**__, impossibly, as if he had conjured her up with a thought, the glint of wetness on her armor making her form shimmer and blur in the mist, as if she truly were a figment of his fevered imagination. Had she __**followed**__ him? The sudden, wild beat of his heart in his ears drowned out everything else._

He realized he was drifting, planets away, when she began nibbling around the edges of his lips, making soft, inviting noises, the feel of her warm skin gliding against his in an alluring, needy wriggle quickly pulling him dirt-side, the sensations chasing each other down the length of his spine to pool, hot, in his groin. He grabbed her hips again blearily, deeply unclear if he was trying to keep her still or exactly the opposite, his rogue hands continuing down her backside as if they had urgent business. She raised her gaze to his, her smile sharp, keen and glittering. He recognized that smile. Being on the receiving end of it meant he was in trouble. Maybe the good kind.

She rolled her hips sinuously, her body arching against his in a slow, controlled wave, teeth nipping his lower lip as her breasts crested against his chest. He felt an immediate pulse of want, so much want, and an answering, raw twinge in his gut, the hot burn of fatigue in every muscle he had, his body giving him conflicting signals about what it wanted, what it needed, what it was capable of after being held and known and loved hard enough to leave marks.

_"Cyare."_ He shut his eyes, wincing again, his hands stilling on her body, the ache in his jaw sharp when he gritted his teeth. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice, hoarse and half strangled. He hadn't meant to say anything; he'd called her _cyare_ in his head for so long that the word spilled out of him.

She stopped.

"Torian." Just the way she said his name made his body twitch painfully into readiness. He shivered again, unable to help it, his muscles rippling like a groundswell on Geonosis. He'd held himself back for so long, _too _long, consuming every ounce of strength and willpower he possessed, and now his body was letting him know it, trembling with the aftershocks of something seismic.

She brushed the sides of his face gently, comfortingly, knuckles tracing his jaw as if she could feel the pain he was holding there, as if she could take it into her hands. When he was still again she kissed his bottom lip with the utmost gentleness, soothing where she'd bit him, the feel of her mouth brushing his reminding him strangely of the comforting tingle of kolto.

Her voice was quiet. "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head, breathing out slowly into the space she gave him, letting his body, his jangled nerve endings, relax. Battles that had left him a single heartbeat away from death had never laid him so bare, raw and exposed.

When he opened his eyes she was looking down at him with a familiar expression, expectant and somehow reassuringly patient, the way she always looked at him when she was waiting for him to elaborate and he didn't have anything else to say.

She touched between his brows gently, as if trying to smooth out a furrow that wasn't there. When he only looked back at her wordlessly, she prompted: "You called for a medic."

He nodded, remembering. "Called for you."

She smiled at that, still looking concerned and somehow gorgeously disheveled, her long hair damp with sweat around her hairline and wild with tangles from his hands. "But you're not hurt?"

He shook his head more emphatically. "Didn't hurt me. Almost killed me, _cyare_."

She smiled more, her lips stretching sensually. "Sorry." She didn't sound sorry at all. She kissed him again, teasingly gentle, then whispered against his lips, "_K'oyacyi_."

Hearing her speak Mando'a didn't help his heavily conflicted state. Her mouth always formed the words as if she tasted something exotic and delicious; now the pout and pucker of her lips reminded him of when she'd bent her head to taste the sweat on his chest.

He kissed her mouth where it rested over his, a single, long, drowsy kiss, kissing her words, her voice, and everything she'd done to him with those lips. His eyelids fell closed again like blast doors, heavy and with finality, though his over-achieving hands continued to map out the curves of her body even as his head sank further into the bed. She was so _luscious_, ripe and inviting. He just couldn't get enough of her, whether he was fully conscious or not.

She leaned into his touch like a sleepy cat. _"Haryc?"_

More Mando'a. She was a natural. She was also trying to kill him. Again.

His hands trailed down through her tangled hair, so soft against his fingers. She had beautiful hair; it had surprised him to finally see it down, unfettered, so unabashedly feminine, falling over her shoulders, as wavy and red-orange as flames, the strands silky between his fingers, how it had felt brushing his face, his lips, tickling his thighs.

He could feel her waiting for him to answer through the mingled fog of exhaustion and desire in his brain. "_Udesla_." The word took a long time to say, its meaning stretching in his mouth. He couldn't see her raised eyebrow, but he could feel the implied question of it burning through his eyelids. "Calm. Like the sea after storm."

He felt her smile against his lips. "You mean you're toast."

He nodded. He _was _toast, but that wasn't all of it. He felt peaceful, and spent, and weary down to his bone marrow, but also relieved, _released, _so relaxed it was as if the bolts holding him together had all been loosened; such a deep lassitude in his joints, his chest, as if he could finally breathe.

His hands rose by feel to cradle her face against his own. "Want you again. When I find my eyes. Loved me blind, _cyare_."

She rubbed her mouth against his lightly, making a soft, satisfied noise. "I want you, too." She kissed him again, so softly, then moved her mouth away from his gradually, reluctantly, as if she were fighting her own battle between desire and exhaustion. "Three and a half." That sounded final. She kissed his eyelids chastely then, her lashes brushing his scars. "We'll find your eyes later."

He traced her face, his hands running over her jaw, her cheekbones, long lashes that fluttered against his fingertips, his thumbs brushing the full softness of her lips, needing to prove again that she was really there, that she was really with him. That she was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen.

"You really are beautiful, you know that?"

Exhale of a laugh, smoky and affectionate. "Says the blind man." She kissed his brow. "Rest, Torian."

She shifted away from him slightly, as if she were about to sit up, but his hands held her against him, not willing to relinquish the contact of her body, her skin. He felt her hunch her shoulders under his touch, his palms sliding over the texture of goose bumps beneath the cooling sweat on her back.

"Cold?"

She raised her shoulders beneath his hands and shivered the smallest amount in answer.

He held her to him with one arm around her shoulders and fished around blindly for blankets beneath them with his other hand, feeling the puff of her quiet, sleepy laugh warming his neck. When his hands found nothing but the tangled ground sheet and what felt like a tiny, lonely pillow he clasped her even more tightly to him and rolled the both of them over, becoming a human blanket over her. He hesitated before resting his full weight on her, up on his elbows, his lips hovering over hers.

"Better?"

"Mmmmm." She sounded as content and relaxed as he felt. Her lips rose to meet his in an inviting, sleepy pout. "Come here."

He relaxed into the feel of her body, breasts pushing against his chest, belly against warm, taut belly, his hips cradled between her silky thighs. She shifted beneath him so that he was folded into her embrace, arms around his back, one long leg twining around his waist, her opposite foot idly tracing down the back of his thigh.

He nestled himself against her, nuzzling into her neck, letting his lips rest against the pulse in her throat, breathing her in. She smelled like kolto and embers, blaster fire and _beskar_, the briny tang of sex and sweat and woman. She felt like home: silky and strong and welcoming beneath him, the taste of her bittersweet against his lips, his tongue, the heady scent of her, the scent of them together.

Soft lips brushed his temple, and she began running her nails down his back slowly, comfortingly, scratching places he hadn't known were itchy, tracing his spine, his shoulder blades, over the wing muscles in his back. He sighed so deeply he felt his body shudder again, lungs emptying; he'd never been touched the way she touched him, with such care, affection, in all of the ways she touched him. He slumped into her, the warmth and comfort of her making the brightness in his chest flare.

"I could get used to this." He whispered the words into her neck.

"You'd better." Her voice was soft and warm. "You're mine."

Everything blurred, tilted, and he was falling, so slowly, nearly weightless and drifting downwards, like snow. Then something abruptly yanked him back from the edge of sleep, pulling him up short. He blinked against her throat, wary and confused.

_"Me'ven?"_

An inquisitive sound answered him, fuzzy with sleep. He felt her shift beneath him, nuzzling her own shoulder drowsily with her lips, but she didn't say anything else.

"Mor?"

He felt her blink at that, lashes fluttering once against his temple.

"Sorry." Her hand moved from where it had been sleepily exploring the curve of his ass to clasp the back of his neck, fingers slowly curling into his hair. She sounded more than half asleep, her voice a low murmur. "You've got a great ass, Cadera."

He didn't know what to say to that, his mind heavy with fatigue. "Thanks?"

"Thank me when you wake up_."_

* * *

Mando'a translations from mandoa dot org:

_**dral **_

bright, glowing; strong, powerful

_**di'kute**_

idiots

_**Gev**_

Stop it.

_**Cyare**_

Beloved

_**K'oyacyi **_

"Hang in there" or "Come back safely." Literally, a command: "Stay alive!"

_**Haryc**_

Tired

**_beskar_**

Mandalorian iron

_**Me'ven?**_

Huh? What? Expression of bewilderment or disbelief.


End file.
